Ticking
by MissAriaChi
Summary: What would you do if you knew when you were going to die, and it was days away? It's even worse when you're magically stuck in a house with the love of your life, whom you now hate and who's hate for you is quite equal. And the pendulum keeps reminding you: your seconds are ticking. Now Complete with Alternate Ending!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I've been having serious writers block with my other story, Face the Truth. So today, as I sat in front of the computer, another idea popped into my head. I wrote this all today and I'd like to say that it is a short, completed story. But I'd like to take it one chapter at a time, more chapters will be uploaded sooner depending on the feedback.**

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. Anything you recognize is hers. The storyline and odd things that you don't recognize are mine. This will be the only disclaimer for the story, so take note!**

**Let's begin, Enjoy.**

She was mesmerized. The geometrical patterns encompassed the surface, giving depth to a trivial crystal glass. The reflection was the result of her brilliant diamond ring, delicately placed upon the finger that was holding the bitter champagne to her soft pink lips. As she twirled the glass, the patterns of the light bounced back and forth, eventually giving way to the silhouette of a man standing behind her. Looking over her shoulder, she forced a smile onto her lips.

"Good evening, Minister." She gripped his hand lightly, "How are you?"

Kingsley still stood at a compelling height with his deep voice that sounded like a slow jazz tune. Yet, Hermione noticed the aging signs his body so easily emanated, signs that the war had reached into his bones and wouldn't release its crushing grip. He gave a deep, rumbling chuckle, "Miss Granger, you don't have to pretend with me. I am fully aware this gathering is supremely dull."

A genuine smile found its way through her façade of polite interest, "I suppose you've come to find me to let me know it's time for the speeches."

Kingsley's smile widened, "You truly are the brightest witch of the century." He elicited another laugh from Hermione, winked, and spun on his heel. Within seconds she lost sight of him in the mass of bodies filling the room. She had been pestered by the Order to give a speech tonight, for the ceremony of the anniversary of the Final Battle. When she had outright refused, the begging had commenced by various members. She had resisted but her will broke when Harry cornered her alone, stooped to his knees, pleaded, and shined the bright of his eyes on her. "This is blackmail," she had said, "and you damn well know it, too." She lifted him to his feet and he cracked a mischievous smile, relayed his thanks, and ducked out of the room, narrowly missing the book Hermione had thrown at him.

She had maneuvered her way through the tables and crowd of people to reach the makeshift stage. She lifted her silk, golden dress to ascend the stairs and sit herself by Harry. Ron graced Harry's other side and every time the redhead leaned toward Harry to say some inane comment, Hermione felt herself bristle and she shifted uncomfortably away from the two. Harry might have noticed her behavior, but, either way, he did not comment on it. Ron simply acted as if she were invisible, something he had been doing for the past two years.

She vaguely heard Kingsley introduce Harry and, every so often, heard a snippet of a selfless, humbling speech that only The-Boy-Who-Lived could give. Her light brown eyes flickered among the guests seated around the magnificent hall, registering the likes of Luna Lovegood, Neville Longbottom, and countless others. She realized she hadn't spent a lot of time with them the past year, in actuality, she hadn't seen much of them since the aftermath of the war. In the beginning of the rebuilding, she often ran into the familiar faces in the rubble of Hogwart's Castle or in the new shops of Diagon Alley. Every time she spoke to a fellow hero, she felt an odd tremor in her chest that would constrict the valves of her beating heart. An even more peculiar dull would glaze itself over her eyes, and the orbs of the other. Three years after the war, she fully understood what that reaction was- remembrance. Perhaps that is why she distanced herself. She had never liked that feeling, really.

Seeing everyone now, all in one place, she was confused. Her heart pulled at her in various shades of emotions, ranging from the grief of loss to the relief and peace she had felt when it was over. The overload left her mind exhausted. She felt herself being pulled into the memory of Neville slaying the snake, the feeling of Ron's arms, when the raucous of applause interrupted her thoughts. She joined in, smiling as if she had hung on to Harry's words. She heard Ron give a small cough, clearing his throat, before taking Harry's place. She told herself she would listen this time, slightly chastising herself for not being attentive to Harry. Refocusing her eyes, she fought to listen. Within mere moments, she gave in to the whirlwind in her brain. She stared at Ron, he was no longer a boy and this newfound mature man commanded the attention of everyone in the room.

He looked almost the same physically, as if he hadn't aged a day. His hair may be a bit shorter than she remembered but the most notable change was much more than appearances. He had a _presence _now; an understanding, enlightened aura that radiated the secret of an interwoven despair that would follow him throughout his life, a constant shadow. The gloom reached its fingers out to Hermione as she regarded Ron, reaching until it seized itself upon her skin. She covered her arms, rubbing continuously to try and force the feeling to leave.

Another round of applause told her it was time to close the speeches. She hadn't listened to a word Ron said, either. _Damn._

She heard the sharp click of her heels vibrate in her ears, understanding that the room had gone silent once more. She gulped nervously and cleared her throat, "I'm sure that most of what I would like to say has already been said by Harry and Ron," she stumbled over Ron's name, she hadn't said it in years and it felt foreign yet _familiar_ on her tongue. She pushed on, "I'd just like to say that today is the day of rejoicing, of celebrating the life that we fought so fiercely for. But it is also a day for remembering. A constant reminder of what the fallen died for; to remember that they died for something bigger than all of us. But I find that I return to Albus Dumbledore's words whenever I feel the sadness of it: Do not pity the dead. Pity the living, and, above all, those who live without love. That's what we fought for, the people we love, and that is the most important thing we must remember today."

As she finished with a quiet, 'Thank you', Harry and Ron stood up beside her as the attendants, in turn, gathered to their feet with the final accolade. The trio made their way off the stage. Harry roped Hermione into a hug before retreating to find Ginny. Ron had already returned to his seat. Hermione found herself wandering and stopped by the bar to get another drink before continuing on into the garden. The blackness had inked its way across the sky, the glinting stars the only refuge of light.

She drained the glass in a single swig and immediately wanted for more. She found a stone bench along the pathway that was hidden behind some overgrown bushes and allowed herself to relax, the first time she had done so that day. Cursing, she dislodged her wand from the inside of her dress and gave it a quick tap, watching as the golden liquid appeared once more. She drained it easily, along with the next four refills. Her vision was getting blurry and she was fighting laughter over some spilled champagne when a voice startled her, causing her to fall backwards into the shrubbery. A loud, boisterous laugh erupted from the pit of her stomach and she struggled back onto the bench. Through watery eyes, she saw Ron, confused, standing in front of her. When their eyes locked, she felt the hatred pierce her skin. His posture was rigid as he looked down at her condescendingly, "Harry wanted me to let you know that we are leaving."

It seemed that the alcohol in Hermione's veins caused her to lose her inhibitions and she just waved him away, "Good riddance." She began laughing and his eyes narrowed.

"What?" she squeaked out between laughs, "Weren't you leaving?" She didn't bother waiting for a response as she busied herself with another refill, or two. Ron watched her for an instant before allowing his hands to leave his pockets and snatch Hermione's drink.

"I think you've had enough."

Hermione's amusement vanished from her face as indignant anger shook her uncontrollably, "You have no right, Ronald! You lost that right when you stopped loving me." The statement was breathless and Hermione felt as though she could pass out right now but she was so incensed by him that she fought off the dizziness. Mustering all the hate she could, she spat through gritted teeth, "I want nothing to do with you."

He peered down at her, not intimidated in the least by the short girl attempting to stand up to him. Contempt crept into his soul as he took in her brown eyes, the way her curls had fallen around her face and subsequently picked up some loose twigs in the bushes, and how _natural_ it felt to be this close to her.

When he didn't respond, Hermione looked up into his eyes and saw it, the dullness, the _emptiness,_ she so often found in the mirror. Immediately, her stance softened, and her voice was low, barely above a whisper as she pleaded, "Leave, Ron. Please, just go."

In the moment he was about to answer with a strange look in his eyes, the two heard a noise come from behind them. Whipping around, Hermione held up her wand, an _Expelliarmus _on her lips as she noticed Ron mimicking her movements. But their attempts were futile. Hermione saw a blinding red light, and then she saw nothing at all.

Her fingers groped along the surface, it was hard and cold against her skin as she fought to drag herself towards the light. She had awoken a few minutes ago to pure, rich darkness. Immediately, she feared she had gone blind until she saw a flickering yellow hue yards away. Hermione found she was too weak to stand and her wand had gone missing. With deep, struggling breaths she continued to light.

After an eternity of crawling, she collapsed in the room. Her head lay on the floor, the only sign of movement emitted from her body was the fearful darting of her eyes as they took in the unknown room. The concrete floor was decorated by a worn rug, and a battered old couch. A tiny kitchen made space for itself along the far wall. A small fire had been made and its meager licks were the only sign of life.

Her head snapped towards the door of the room when she heard a gasp. Ron lay on the floor as well, a deep gash in his forehead. He was grunting in pain and she moved towards him, "What happened?"

He looked at her through his peripheral but clutched at his stomach before he replied. He leaned up on his elbows and took a deep breath, "They stupefied you. I tried to fight them off but I was outnumbered. They got me not long after."

She raised her head in alarm, "Who was it?"

He shrugged in confusion and moved to sit on the couch. Hermione sat against the wall and realized where she was and who she was with. With her knowledge, she gathered the last of her strength to pull back the moth-ridden curtains, looking through the glass of the window to find it only reflected her. Her stomach tightened and the fear she had felt during the war came back to her in full measure.

"I think we are in the Shrieking Shack."

Ron ignored her. She lifted her head higher, deciding it was time to find a way out. When she took her first step, she felt the structure of the building shake and a voice erupted from the walls, seeping through the splints of the wood that held together their prison. The voice was unknown but dangerously melodic, vibrating the very core of her brain. She held her palms over her ears as it spoke:

"_Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger. It is time that you were punished for the crimes of war you committed towards the Death Eaters. I have your wands and you will find there is no way out._

_Your time of death has been planned for you. While unconscious you were given a potion that has activated and will shut down your pathetic bodies at five days time. Harry Potter cannot save you now. Harry Potter will now be unable to save himself."_

The voice faded and a large, mahogany Grandfather clock materialized. Hermione, in shock, approached the ticking machine. The swinging pendulum ensnared her interest as she leaned closer to it, motioning for Ron to join her.

The pair heard what sounded like a thousand whispers, repeating the same thing, again and again, "_Your seconds are ticking."_


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you to all of those who put an alert on the story, reviewed it, or simply just read it. It means so much to me. Just a reminder, this is a short story I've completed, and feedback from you all will shorten the time between uploads.**

**Let's go, Day 1.**

The foreboding clock announced that it was four in the morning. As Ron lay on the couch, Hermione was desperate to keep moving, needing to do something, _anything_. She returned into the room that she had woken in and found that it was a bedroom. A tiny bathroom was visible through a door on the opposite side. A single mattress rested upon the dusty floor, allowing the place to look more lonely than ever.

She fell on the stiff mattress, needing to collect her thoughts by reflecting on what she heard and gathering her mass of logic to find a solution. She ferociously ignored that she would die in five days, refusing to believe it. Hermione had survived a _war_; she wasn't going to give up now.

Her muscles were screaming at her to rest but she couldn't. She returned to the main room, hoping to find something in the kitchen cabinets. Her search culminated in an apple and a decrepit goblet full of water she had run from the tap. Sitting upon the floor, she resolutely stared at the man on the couch, "We have to find a way out of here."

He stubbornly refused to meet her gaze. The only sound was the crunch of her apple as she waited for his response.

"How can you be so flippant about this? We're trapped in a house, _together_, and told we will die in five days!" His outburst shocked her into silence. He threw a scowling look at her, "Just get away from me."

Resentment rose like vomit in her throat, "You'd rather wait for someone to come rescue us, I suppose? You're pathetic." She pierced him with a glare before returning to the bedroom, her anger completely vanishing any energy she had left.

A strange, shuffling sound extracted Hermione from her slumber. She blinked, and the haze revealed a vibrant spread of red. _How strange, _she thought, _what's Ginny doing in my bedroom?_ When the film lifted, she discerned that, in fact, it was Ginny's git for a brother standing in front of her. Suddenly, the past day's occurrences flooded her system and the fear materialized in her blood.

"What time is it?

"Five in the evening," he muttered, "Figured I'd wake you up for dinner and to find a plan to get the bloody hell out of here." He rubbed the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable and vexed about having to converse with her. Hermione sat up groggily, rubbing her eyes, "You get the food," she ordered, "I'll see if I can scrounge up some parchment and ink."

Ron made quite a bit of noise in the kitchen. Slamming the cabinet doors, he grumbled at the lack of food. Their dinner was composed of dying fruit and dry roast, clearly forgotten food. Hermione's search was to no avail, there was next to nothing in the place. Silence settled over dinner, occasionally interrupted by the clink of rusted silverware on the cracked plates. Ample amounts of water did nothing to ease their hunger causing the tension to rise to dangerous levels.

With every stretching minute, Hermione could feel Ron's fury cascading among the room, a force field of irascibility that was lessening her hopes of cooperation. She laid her fork gently on the old, wooden table pockmarked by time. She softly cleared her throat, "I don't know what wards are on this place and I don't know the consequences. I'm not quite sure where we are, even." Her earlier thoughts of the Shrieking Shack were diminishing, seeing as how this place was comprised of two rooms.

"We don't have a doorway," she continued under his penetrating stare, "the only aperture we have is the window made of a mirror." The palpable tension increased as Ron moved to the window and examined it. Hermione fidgeted at the table as Ron stood as still as a statue. Abruptly, Ron's fist collided with the glass and Hermione let out a small shriek.

She rushed over to him, noticing that the window had suffered no damage. Ron held his hand close to his chest, silent as he watched blood pour from the wound. He sharply sucked in a breath while the wound seemed to be opening, splitting his skin, rupturing his veins. Trepidation crawled along Hermione's skin as the voice from earlier came to life.

"_How foolish. Consequences will be suffered if you try to leave. This will be your only warning."_

As soon as it struck, the voice was gone. Both of their breathing quickened as they watched Ron's hand heal. A solemn silence reigned over the room once more. Ron stepped into action and began pulling out the kitchen drawers, searching for something, _anything,_ to break them out.

"I'll break down these damn walls, if I have to." He offered as explanation. He pulled out a dull knife and tried to pin it between the wooden boards making the walls. Before the knife could be stuck in, the piece of silverware turned in his hand and slashed the skin.

"Bloody hell!" He cried. The pain seemed to ignite his fury and he became a madman. The table was overturned and the drawers all pulled out of place. He picked up the small couch and threw it at the window. When nothing happened, he threw himself at the wall instead. His fists were flying into the wood and his nails were chipped and broken from scratching at the barrier that separated him from the outside world.

His seemingly unending onslaught was cut short by a stunning light that drove straight at Ron's chest. His tall, lean body was lifted into the air as he underwent an overly powerful curse. He screamed as though he was being engulfed in flames, as though he was being ripped apart. Hermione darted over to him, reaching out to him but was thrown back before she could reach him. Her body collided with the wall and she watched as his body, shaking like a rag doll, was finally released to the floor.

She crawled over him, tears welling in her eyes. She reached out to him but with the little strength he had left, he pushed her away, "Just stay away from me, woman." He grimaced and grunted in pain. She continued to lean over him and he screamed, "Leave!"

Hermione retreated to the bedroom. Tears finally falling down her dirt-covered face and sweat dripping down her back, she grabbed the blanket off the mattress. Her feet padded quietly back to Ron and she laid the blanket over him.

The whispers from the Grandfather clock seemed to become louder, more aggressive. Hermione looked down at her hands, speaking to the universe, "We're going to die, aren't we?"

A sob hitched in her throat as Ron replied, under his breath, "Yeah."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Just to clear things up, I made a very (**_**very**_**) small reference to it being three years after the war, making the trio twenty years old. Sorry for the confusion! (: Thanks for the feedback!**

**I hope you enjoy!**

She sat against the wall in the bedroom, deciding that she needed to vent her frustrations to anyone in Heaven who would listen. She couldn't help but be a little angry with whoever was running the show up there. Hermione sat there until evening, musing and cursing, refusing to face Ron.

"Why me?" she whispered to the ghosts, defeated, "Why can't I just have what every one else has?"

She heard Ron's voice echo from the next room, "Our lives were made to be tragedies, Hermione." When he said her name, it was as if he was spitting poison directly into her heart. Faces flashed at the foremost point of her mind: Harry and his emerald eyes, Ginny, Luna, the entire Weasley family. She would never see them again.

Hysteria gathered like bile up her throat and she stormed towards Ron, who peered over his goblet, exasperated. She poked him in the chest, "It's all your fault!" Her voice rose to a piercing shriek as her panic grew and the pressure weighing on her stomach became heavier with each syllable.

He didn't move, not the slightest twitch, and suddenly, his goblet smashed into the far wall. Hermione flinched but held her ground, her anger surged and spilled over her in cascading waves.

"My fault? My fault! How could you come up with that bloody idea?"

She was picking up the pieces of the goblet while he bellowed. Standing up straight and blowing her hair out of her face, she tossed the bits into the bin. Turning around and crossing her arms, she countered, "If you hadn't bothered to come find me, then maybe they'd have left me well alone."

"Says the one who wandered away from the party."

"Maybe I wouldn't have gone out there if you hadn't made everything awkward!"

"I wouldn't have been awkward if you hadn't broken up with me!"

Hermione was boiling, "You stopped loving me!" They were nose to nose, breathing heavily, and leaking hatred. She gave him a hard push and he fell back onto the couch. Hermione sunk to the floor, wearied. Nightfall was creeping but she knew she couldn't sleep.

They stopped talking, stopped looking at one another, and promptly tried to banish the other from their minds. The only noise that filled the space was the ticking of the clock. Though, neither of them heard it; too deep in their minds, too lost in their paths of memories.

Hermione's limbs were shaking and she tightened them together, hoping to fend off the trembling. Ron's words echoed in her head; calling out to Hermione, begging her to go back, one more time, to their last day. She held off the flashback that was tugging at the edge of her brain and, ultimately, she didn't have enough strength to contend with it.

_She entered the burrow to find it empty. She threw her briefcase on the table before checking Ron's room. She was overly tired from her first week at the ministry, interning at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Upon seeing the vacant room, she turned to go to the pond, believing she would find Ron there._

_The leaves crunched under her feet as she approached his back. He turned to her and she immediately stepped back, her nose crinkling in distaste. firewhiskey emerged from him, as if he had bathed in it. He advanced forward to hug her but she retreated another step. _

"_Why are you drunk?" she hoped that her disapproval wasn't evident in the question. Apparently it had been because his face turned a violent shade of red. He picked up the bottle situated next to him that she hadn't seen. Turning back to the pond, he lifted his arms high, "Why not? It seemed like the best option to me."_

_At the end of his proclamation, he lost his footing and very nearly fell in the pond. Hermione huffed in frustration and put a hand on his sleeve to jerk him back towards her._

"_Did you even leave today to look for a job?"_

_Her question enraged him further and he bent down to look her in the eye, slurring his words, "No, I didn't. I have decided that it's," a smirk emerged, "pointless."_

"_Poin-!" she made to screech but he didn't allow the interruption._

"_I'm just going to make my money from interviews, doing things that a war hero, celebrity, would get a handsome sum for." He shrugged his shoulders, indicative of his newfound nonchalant manner. _

_Hermione bounced from one foot to another, barely able to contain the fury that spun wildly inside her, "Ronald. That is the most ridiculous thing I've heard. Doing things like that would exploit not only your privacy but mine and others as well."_

"_Well, that's what I'm going to do. A normal job is hard to come by and this would be so much easier."_

"_You're being a coward. Just because you haven't found a job yet doesn't mean you won't ever find one," she prodded him in the chest to emphasize her point, "You're being lazy, immature, and a coward!"_

_She began walking away, her anger too much to handle, but turned around at the last moment, "I have news for you, Ronald Weasley. You're being a child, grow up. Accept some responsibility."_

_She continued walking to the house when she heard him call behind her, "Well, I have news for you too! I don't know how I feel about you anymore."_

_Her every limb, every muscle, every nerve stiffened. She tightly turned around, "You don't mean that."_

_He looked at her, the alcohol acting as the master of the puppet. His blood shot eyes contrasted so sharply with the blue that it was so transfixing, Hermione felt lost for a moment. Then he opened his mouth, something on his lips, but seemed to swallow his retort._

_She eyed him, her poise exceedingly deceitful. "Fine, Ronald. Then you can have all the time in the world to figure things out. I'm done. It's over." She shrunk backwards, her face etched in despair before apparating away._

She looked down, she had been turning the ring in a circle over her finger as she recalled that horrible, _agonizing_ day. The ring caught the firelight and made the geometrical shapes again. She always thought of her parents as she marveled the ring on her finger. _Merlin, _how she missed them. They had died in the aftermath of the war, and it was still a mystery on who had done it. They only thing she kept were the pictures, and her mother's diamond wedding ring.

Ron had fallen asleep, who knows how long ago. As quietly as she could, Hermione laid on the mattress. And for the first time, in a long time, she allowed herself to cry for her parents, herself, and Ron.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thank you everyone, for reading and reviewing! This chapter may be a little shorter, my apologies! (:**

**Enjoy!**

Hermione laid on her back, having been staring at the bedroom ceiling for hours. She had torn her dress at the knees, making it a little more bearable and moveable before deciding she really just wanted to sleep. She no longer felt angry but the despair was sinking into her bones. Her always faithful, logical brain was now starting to realize what dying really meant.

Funny how she had been so close to death, a countless number of times, but it never felt _real. _She witnessed death, knew what it sounded like, but she never put herself in that position. Hermione had seen the grip of death, once or twice had felt its finger tips, but never had she been so ensnared into its grasp. Never had she been so sure that he was ready to take her with him.

Again, she thought of those she would be leaving behind. Harry, her best friend, would never tell her another stupid joke or be the voice of reason when she was bordering on insanity. Ginny would never come over with a bottle of wine again, ready to drink away their troubles. Most likely, Hermione would never have troubles again. Luna, Neville, George, Mrs. Weasley, Arthur, and others flipped through her mind. She could feel her heart slamming against her ribcage, begging for a relief from the grief settling within its chambers.

Hermione thought of all the things she would never do, places she would never see, goals she would never meet. The ticking seemed to grow louder in her ears when she thought of the children she had wanted and the marriage she had always envisioned with Ron. Her throat began constricting as children with red hair and brown eyes danced in and out of her vision. She gripped onto the pillow, wanting to scream and thrash and break things but unable to do so. Her entire chest was throbbing and the tears were rapidly building.

"Why? Why?" she continued to mumble into the pillow. With each word, her tears spilled over, hot on her flushed cheeks. She was scared, she was frightened beyond anything she had experienced before. She finally let out a bone-crunching, throat-burning scream.

"Hermione."

Ron's voice carried into the room, beckoning her in a calm but strict way. She forced herself to leave the bed, and when she went to face him, he motioned to the couch, "Sit."

Hermione was unable to do anything other than obey. She watched as he rummaged through the highest cabinet, extracting a tall bottle of firewhiskey. Handing her a shot after he grabbed the goblets, he quietly instructed her to drink it.

No words were said but something in the air had changed. There was no animosity between them, yet nothing amicable was present either. They drank in a gloomy silence, neither finding the right words to begin. Continuous shots were swallowed until the pair were completely inebriated.

Abruptly, Hermione spilled out, words falling over themselves, "What are you going to miss?"

His face held a heartbreaking look, one that revealed his fears. "I don't know," he grumbled; he wouldn't meet her gaze.

Hermione began rubbing her hands on her dress, for they were getting clammy, "I'm going to miss your pond on Sundays. I'll always crave for one more look at Hogwarts. But I'll definitely long for what I didn't get to do: visit France, be successful, have a child… be l-loved." Her voice broke and a tear slid down her face, she shifted slightly, hoping he hadn't seen it.

She would've missed it, had the world not been so stilled, so absent from them. But she did hear them, the soft words he whispered, "Me too. I'll miss my mom's cooking, George's jokes, but I will get to see Fred…" He trailed off and Hermione pretended not to notice.

There was some truth in that and she told Ron so, "You're right. I'll be able to see my parents…Tonks, Remus…Dumbledore…and every one else." She was nodding as to convince herself that this made everything alright.

"But-" and this hesitation from Ron was the trigger to unloading Hermione's doubts and they rushed to the forefront of her mind. She would never see Teddy grow, Harry and Ginny's children grow. She would never be physically there to hold, to dance, to just _be_ with them. She was brought back to reality by a slight whimper, and saw Ron was crying as well.

"It's unfair! We survived the war just to be tortured, _tortured,_ and given a slow, predetermined death? Why? Why!" he continued to repeat Hermione's earlier sentiment. She gripped the bottle and handed it to him, using it to nudge him into action.

"Let's have some more."

He turned to look at her, and there it was: that _dullness._ It was as if his eyes were glazed and out of focus. His pupils widened and she felt herself being pulled in, a long, twisting tunnel into the passages of his brain, overloaded and held down by the things he had been forced to see at such a young age.

She grimaced as he continued to stare at her; not really seeing her. She turned back to the fire, "I hate that, you know."

He instantly reemerged, blinking in confusion, "What?"

She spoke to the glowing embers, "That's why I wouldn't see anyone; avoided them, actually. That look. The one where you are suddenly hypnotic, transported to another place and time. Seeing everyone meant going back and I didn't want that to happen."

She paused, "Now I wish I would have." Her voice was low and sweet; here she was: admitting defeat.

Ron didn't respond; only moving to fill their goblets.

Since the beginning of their imprisonment, this was the first time they sat next to each other on the couch. Forcing down one shot after another. For the rest of the night, they stared into the fire's dancing flames, seeing their future being slowly burned to a crisp.


	5. Special Author's Note

**Special Author's Note:**

**I received a review that I felt should be replied to, immediately. A reviewer addressed my "Ron bashing" and how I perceived him as a lazy, drunk. First, and foremost, I would like to apologize to the reviewer for coming across as bashing Ron. I would never, ever do so intentionally. You will find in coming chapters that I explain what was going through Ron's and Hermione's minds as they were fighting that day. **

**And I would like to say that no, Ron is not a drunk. There is drinking in my story but I feel that in time of extreme angst, human beings, by nature, might turn to alcohol; at least, my characters do. Ron being drunk symbolizes his inability to deal with his grief and internal problems. Again, I do explore it more in later chapters. Also, remember: People say things they don't mean when they are angry. **

**I am sorry, again, for making you feel that I would deliberately portray Ron as someone other than the wonderful, but flawed, character that I love. I do hope you enjoy the rest of the story.**

**Thank you for reading!**

**MissAriaChi**


	6. Chapter 5

**A/N: Thank you everyone for reading and reviewing! Enjoy!**

All morning, she had locked herself in the bathroom, staring at her reflection in the mirror. She hungrily took in every inch of her skin, memorizing the look of it and using her hands to commit to memory the feel of it. She never wanted to forget what it looked and felt like to have a body. Her thoughts carried over to the man sitting in the living room and how she wanted to drink in every part of him. She never, ever wanted to forget him, in the chance that death would separate them permanently.

The previous night's drinking had given her a slight headache and cold water was the only cure the prison offered. In Ron's case, he just pulled out another bottle, hoping to ease his pain with more poison.

When she finally left the confines of the bathroom, she approached Ron. As he turned from the kitchen sink, she placed a light hand on his arm, "I need to talk to you."

He nodded his head, acquiescent. She led him to the couch and she, albeit hesitantly, took his offer of another shot. It burned as it made its way down but she spoke over the searing liquid, "I've never hated you. I'm sorry for all the things I've said."

He gave a small grimace, "I'm sorry for everything, too. It got way out of hand." She nodded slowly and refilled her goblet.

"I'm glad it's you that I'm enduring this with," her statement surprised him but he gave a small, half-hearted smile.

"If I'd have been quick enough, we might never have gone through this."

"I don't blame you," she explained, "I've been trying to find the good in this tragedy and really the only thing is that it has brought you back to me."

He seem surprised at her words, "I'm grateful for that, too." In contrast to Ron, his words elated Hermione, lifting just a small bit of the heaviness that weighed upon her chest. Ron was still staring at his goblet, "Remember that time, in First Year, that we all watched Seamus blow himself up because he tried turning the water into rum?"

Hermione let out a slight chuckle, her frown lines were less pronounced than they'd been in years. She turned to him, "What about that time Harry told you he put the Felix Felicis in your morning juice before the game?" Her frown lightened even more at the memory but, at the mention of Harry's name, Ron stiffened and reverted back into himself.

Her frown deepened and she stretched her arm out to him, "I'm sorry…" but before she could truly get the sentiment out, he walked out and shut himself in the bathroom. She waited for an hour before deciding to check on him. She meekly knocked at the bathroom door before checking the lock, and pushing it open. Ron was sitting in the dark, tears coating his face.

She sat next to him and gingerly pulled him towards her until she was smoothing his hair as he rested on her shoulder. He took some calming breaths, "I'm not ready. I can't die now. I'm not ready." Each word was like a knife plunging into her heart.

She continued to stroke his hair, "I know. I'm not ready, either. But it's time we realize that we don't have a choice. It's our time." She paused, "Want to know a secret?" He looked up at her questioningly but she was staring into space as if speaking to a phantom, "When my parents died, I had a huge, overwhelming fear of dying. I couldn't imagine not knowing, unable to comprehend where our souls go after our last breath. One day, you were skipping stones in the pond and I was just watching you. I just remember thinking to myself: this is how I want to go. If I could have a last wish, I'd wish that you'd be there, standing alongside me when my heart stopped beating."

She continued speaking, her feelings finally letting themselves out, her voice was slow, rhythmic, as she told her story, "That day, the minute you said you didn't know how you felt about me anymore, I was in such agony. For months, years, even to this day, I wonder what I did wrong. You have no idea, Ron, how much you meant to me, _mean _to me. You were my world, I had you and that's all I needed. When it turned out that you could live without me, I felt so foolish. I felt so naïve, so pathetic. I was angry at myself for not being good enough for you."

With every word, Ron lifted himself back, away from Hermione, self-loathing evident in his eyes, "This is my fault." She desperately tried to explain what she had meant but he held a hand up to silence her.

"I've always loved you. Since I was twelve, your bushy-haired, buck-toothed, _beautiful _face was stuck in my mind. After the war, when I started looking for a job, I never felt _good enough_. It seemed that you and Harry were fine, dealing with the deaths so well. And here I was, slowly becoming nobody, becoming numb. I hated myself. I loathed myself for not being up to your standards."

He turned to her, shamefaced and slightly nervous, "And that's when I began blaming you. _You _were good at everything. _You _could and would accomplish anything that crossed your path. _You _just had to have the standards that of which I just couldn't meet. I started blaming you, the face to all my problems. I said things to hurt you, to push you away, to make myself feel better. I really was a coward. I was a stupid, selfish coward, and you deserve much, much better."

Hermione was crying at this point, she held his face between her hands, her whispering breath caressed his face, "I never had any standard, Ron. I only had you." She tugged Ron to his feet and lead him back into the living room. They sat together on the couch, his arm around her as she leaned into his side.

She gave a mirthless smile, "I'm going to really miss this. I hate the unknown." He gave her shoulder a feeble squeeze before consuming another glass. Ron went into the kitchen and his hands found a previously emptied bottle. He slammed it onto the ground, and the shattering of the glass echoed throughout the room, Ron was breathing heavily as he lifted a pointing finger towards her, "Why couldn't you have just stayed away? Why did you have to make things more complicated? Why couldn't we have just continued to bloody hate each other? Why!"

Her eyes were wide and her shoulders were slack as her brain rushed to comprehend this twist. She tried moving her mouth, hoping that it would know what to say, when he stormed into the bedroom, slamming the door. Not knowing what to do, Hermione went over to where the bottle lay in pieces among the floor. As she knelt down, she took in the sight before her. For minutes, she remained looking at her broken reflection in the sharp, split fragments.

Ron appeared out of the bedroom and motioned for her to follow him. As he claimed one side of the bed, Hermione knew he was offering to share. They stared, face to face, as he spoke the same question, again, "Why?"

"Why would this happen to us?," she whispered back, "There is no reason. Fate works in mysterious ways. There is nothing, no answer. Stop beating yourself up. Stop looking for an explanation when there isn't one."

They fell asleep that night, understanding that tomorrow was the end. Understanding that tomorrow morning was the last time they would wake up from their sleep.


	7. Chapter 6

**A/N: Ahh, the last day. Thank you to my readers and reviewers. You all have been wonderful, and you give great feedback! Here's the last day. There will be a finale. **

**Enjoy!**

They allowed themselves to sleep in, desperately holding onto those hours of true peace, the only hours they were completely forgetful, undeniably free. The clock was ticking, whispers bouncing excitedly, as Hermione saw that it was already mid-afternoon. Twelve hours. _Twelve_ hours. It was a deadly, eerie mantra that took residence in Hermione's mind. Drinking more firewhiskey didn't help to forget.

The fire was burning as they sat together. Telling stories of times at Hogwarts, past memories that had been forgotten until the other triggered it. They held hands the entire time, committing to memory the feel of each other. At one point, though neither could say who made the first move, their lips touched and a spark of electricity shot through them, igniting their veins. When it became more intense, Ron carried her bridal style into the bedroom. He took his time, was patient, and, oh so, _gentle. _

As they were getting redressed, she thought, _how ironic, _her first time was subsequently her last. But all that mattered is that he was there, he was the one holding her. She was just grateful that fate allowed her the chance.

When the clock struck ten, another bottle of firewhiskey was relieved from its post in the cabinet and emptied within two hours. Her stomach was imploding on itself from pure, raw fear. The clock seemed to be twisting rapidly, spinning swiftly causing time to fly.

Her hands were shaking as she took her last drink. Her _last _drink. The stock of firewhiskey had been cleaned out. She washed her hands in the sink for something to do. As she wiped them off with a semi-clean rag, she turned to find Ron standing a few feet behind her. He was twisting her mother's ring in his hand, concentration scrunching up his face. He looked up to find her watching him, and he slowly sauntered up to her.

"Hermione?"

"Yes?"

Ron knelt onto one knee, his blue orbs peering up at her through his lashes, "Will you marry me? Will you be my fiancé for the night?"

Hermione burst into tears. She knelt down to his level and put the ring on her finger, nodding in concurrence. She couldn't help but think that it was a terrible destiny, for her to finally have him, her fiancé, for only a couple hours. Never to be truly united, never to have the wedding she's always dreamed of. Never to see the Burrow again, full of red haired relatives and birds of paradise with Harry and Ginny standing for them. He pulled her to her feet and as the clock struck midnight, in their desire to banish their agony, he laid her down once more.

They laid together that night, enwrapped in each other's embrace. They talked about everything that happened and everything they wish could've.

Absentmindedly playing with a lock of hair, he mused, "How about Rhodes?"

"Absolutely not; not another Greek name. Mine is bad enough."

"Rose?"

She smiled, "Yeah. I like that one. Rosie." She felt the name roll off her tongue and her body shivered at the unexpected commonplace taste; the _rightness _of the name.

When she lifted her face to meet his, she notices his eyes dimmed, and his voice softly carried, "I really am sorry for everything." She gave his hand a light squeeze.

With every tick, that grew louder by the minute, their nerves grew, their doom becoming more of a reality with every passing moment. Hermione shook uncontrollably and covered her mouth with her hand, trying to stop the impending hysteria and hyperventilation. With each ragged breath, Ron gripped her closer, _tighter. _His strength against his own despair only came from the fact that he needed to be strong for her.

"You'll be with me, right?" she sounded like a tiny, scared child. Tears came to fruition in both sets of eyes.

He hugged her closer, "I will never leave you. Something as simple as death will not keep me from you. When you open your eyes again, I'll be standing in front of you." And somewhere, deep down inside his soul, he knew this to be true. He knew that he would never part with her, not even in death. She was his other half, the person who made him feel wholly complete. She was _his._

His words resonated honesty in her ears and she spoke in a low voice, "I was stupid for ever letting you get away. I was stupid for ever leaving. I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, too, love."

They just watched each other, simply needing to see that the other person was there, was still _tangible._ She let her hands run over his skin, feeling the beard that had grown in their last days. Neither spoke, the words too hard to find, the sentiment dragging them deeper. She gave a hysterical squeak as he moved from the bed and disappeared into the dark, out of her touch. He returned seconds later. He resumed their position and started smoothing her hair, hoping to calm her down.

"Love," he whispered, "It's 3:52. It's almost time." She broke into a fiery, delirious sob, blindly gripping through her tears as she clawed desperately, trying to pull him closer. He broke into an emotional wail, clinging to her for dear life.

"I love you. I love you. I love you." he pressed his lips to her ear, muttering it over and over, as if she never might know how true it was. She responded in kind, replying to every statement. They were nose to nose when the ticking became dramatically slow then turned to a rapid succession of faster, louder ticks. The whispers were now echoing, seeming to bounce off the walls.

"Close your eyes," Ron whispered, urgently, "Try and think of happier things. Try to fall asleep. I love you." She did as she was told. But then the ticking stopped and her eyes opened wildly, finding his staring back into her. Fear was radiating from both of them and in the split second that the ticking stopped, a white light invaded the room. It swooped over them and encased them in its clutch.

Ron and Hermione laid together in a desperate embrace, their faces tilted towards one another; their eyes closed.


	8. Finale

**A/N: Thank you for reading this story. I'm glad to say it's finished! I hope you like the ending. Sorry it took so long!**

The light had been blinding, forcing its streak throughout every corner of the room and effectively stunning Hermione and Ron into a peaceful coma. A resounding blast had torn apart the walls and, in the cloud of rubble, a bloodied hand reached for Hermione's foot while resting its counterpart on Ron's. After struggling for a firm grip, a large crack echoed through the silence and they disappeared.

The last three days had been chaotic, to say the least. When Harry appeared in the middle of a St. Mungo's ward, yelling had ensued causing healers and nurses to flurry around. After demanding that Ron and Hermione be taken, Harry collapsed into a weak heap on the floor. Families had been notified and dozens of people crowded the waiting room, refusing to leave until the pair was deemed healthy. Mrs. Potter had come straight from work. Ginny had immediately ventured to look for Harry to find that he had disappeared moments after he brought them there, as said by one of the nurses.

The redhead became suspicious and a slight chill of dread spread across her skin. She locked herself in the bathroom before she quickly summoned Kreacher. The house elf appeared immediately, "Yes, Miss?"

She wrapped her pale hand around his own and whispered, "Take me to Harry."

The pull behind her navel was instantaneous, leaving her no time to regret her decision. The two appeared in a dry, barren field. Ginny's long hair whipped around in the wind, slightly blurring her view of the large manor standing in the distance. The confusion on her face twisted into fear as she saw jets of red and green light reflecting in the glass of the manor's sunroom. She turned towards the silent house elf and whispered, "Go to Kingsley and my father. Bring them back here." The elf had disappeared for mere moments before returning with the summoned guests. The unlikely trio brandished their wands before sprinting to join the duel.

Upon entering the rotunda, Ginny stopped in shock. Harry was dueling three people: Theodore Nott, Malcolm Baddock, and Miles Bletchley. All former Slytherins and all present Death Eaters. She had recognized them from the wanted posters.

She watched as Harry was joined by Kingsley and Arthur. As Harry dove out of the way of another killing curse, she heard him scream, "Why? That's all I want to know! Why did you have to take them? Why!" Kingsley and Arthur shot off spells while anxiously awaiting the answer themselves.

Nott let out a mirthless laugh and spit, "How else would we get you alone? Without the two backing you up, we would never have the chance to kill you. There's no need to fret, Potter. Even you must know, a blood traitor and a mudblood deserve everything we gave them."

Ginny watched as her husband's eyes steeled and a look of pure, unprecedented fury etched his features before he shouted, "Avada Kedavra!" The former Slytherin had no time to react and his body fell lifeless to the floor.

Upon seeing their leader dead, Baddock and Bletchley began backing away and struggling to find a way out. In their fright, they began flinging spells all around the room desperately. They knew they were outnumbered and out skilled. Ginny knew she had to act before the men had the chance to apparate.

From the doorway, Ginny stunned Baddock as her father took down Bletchley. While Kingsley and Arthur hurried to restrain them, Harry appeared beside Ginny. He grabbed her hand and apparated them back to the hospital. Leaving the Ministry men to sort out what to do with the prisoners.

That had been three days ago. Three agonizingly slow, painful days. Harry Potter had not slept, not eaten, and had only been forced to drink cup upon cup of bitter, black coffee. He sat there between their beds, rubbing his temples and forcing back tears. Everyone had gone home for the night but he refused to leave. As the sun sank down, so did his hope. Their chests barely rose with their shallow breathing and the healer's had told him that the poison had been removed from their hearts, _their hearts. _He groaned in despair. The healer's said they'd just have to wait. Either they would wake, or they wouldn't.

It was so quiet in this room. He began to stir crazily, begging for something to happen. He stood up, rubbing his hands together, and pushed Ron's bed over to Hermione's. He waved his wand over the gap and the beds combined. He climbed in slowly as to not disturb them, lying on his back between them. He could feel them close to him, could feel the slight air emitted from their mouths. As he stared at the ceiling, he finally let himself cry.

"P-Please," he whispered, "Merlin, God, anyone. Whoever is listening, please, take me instead. Take me. I'll do anything. Give them my life. Give them my magic." More abrupt tears coated his face as he pleaded one more time, "Take me." He slowly succumbed to his slumber.

The next morning, before the sun's first rays, it all started with one little twitch. The twitch turned into an opening of her eyes. She was groggy with sleep and the film over her eyes was stubborn. She felt too weak to rub it away but finally, the haze cleared. She turned her head to see Harry between her and Ron. And with a crashing realization, she felt her beating heart.

"I'm alive," she whispered so lightly that even her ears couldn't register the words. She rolled onto her side before pushing Harry's hair off of his face. The green eyes were slowly revealed and when Harry took her in his arms, she found herself consoling his sobs. As they sat up on the bed holding on to each other, they stiffened when another set of long arms encased them both.

"Ron!" They shouted in unison. The Golden Trio were enchanted with each other, each to afraid to loosen their hold. After what seemed like hours, the three pulled back. Harry shakily stood on his feet.

"I'll go get every one." He gave another small smile.

Hermione turned to Ron, unsure of what to say. At her gaze, he chuckled and motioned for her to come closer. She curled up in his lap.

"I can't believe we survived." He captured her lips before pulling away and cradling her face in his hands.

"Will you still marry me?"

She turned thoughtful at his words. He could see her thoughts racing behind her eyes. She sat up straighter before interlocking her hands with his.

"We can't let trivial things get between us anymore. To marry you, I want you to be able to trust me enough to come and talk about your insecurities; instead of running to a bottle or isolating yourself."

His mouth was set in a straight, serious line, "Never will I let anything come between us."

He was playing with her hair now and searching her face. She spoke hesitantly, "We have a lot to talk about and a lot to work on. But I'm willing to do it. I want to be with you, forever." The rest of her answer was cut off by his lips once again and they passionately delved into one another. They only broke apart when they heard the outside corridor become very noisy.

Hermione's eyes watered as she began to see glimpses of the Weasley family and Harry in the hallway. Ginny's voice could be heard above them all, "Should I go get a bottle of firewhiskey to celebrate?"

Ron and Hermione groaned, neither able to contemplate every drinking again. They shared a knowing laugh between them before being engulfed in hugs by their family. They were safe. They were home. All was well.

**Fin.**

**P.S. I wrote an alternate ending, a sad one. If anyone would like to read it or have it posted, just let me know.**

**One last thing, thank you rhmac12 for, most likely unknowingly, offering me the encouragement and support I needed!**


	9. Finale Alternate Ending

**A/N: Here is the alternate ending. I hope you enjoy this!**

Hermione gathered herself into a sitting position, registering that there was a dull, stinging pain at the nape of her neck. She blinked once, twice, trying to remember what happened. She lifted her head to look around, _is this the same room?, _she thought to herself. Looking around, it seemed so familiar. The floor was a glaring white marble and the walls were made of the same material, except there was no furniture. It was an exact replica of the bedroom that she had been lying with Ron in.

"Ron!" she whispered. She hurriedly pushed her body off the floor and into the living room. It was made exactly as the bedroom, exceptionally white floor and walls, with the blatant absence of furniture.

Then she saw him, _her _Ron. He was standing in the same suit he had been trapped in, his hands folded deep within his pockets. He hadn't noticed her presence yet, and it appeared he was looking through the window, Hogwart's Castle standing majestically in the distance.

"So this was the Shrieking Shack," she said in a low voice, coming up behind him. He turned and gave her a sad smile.

"Maybe this won't be so bad, you know, looking at Hogwarts for eternity."

Her smile immediately turned down, and she slid her hand into his, "I don't know what I expected, but it definitely wasn't this." It took Hermione another instant to realize what Ron already knew. They were dead.

As Hermione began to cry again, questions attacked her brain. Even in death, she still didn't have any answers. Ron pulled her into a hug as they both looked longingly on at the castle they had once called home. Hermione laid her head on his chest, tears silently pouring onto his shirt.

Her head rose and she looked into his face, a faltering smile playing around her lips, "At least we have each-" And as soon as she allowed the words to come forward, she jumped back in sheer horror. Ron was fading, becoming more indistinct with every second, fading into the background.

"Ron? RON!"

His features were indistinct, only his blue orbs were discernable, shining in alarm. Hermione's pallid face was screaming and she was reaching for him, but found that he could not be touched.

As he fully disappeared, Hermione's legs gave out. She began scratching at the white floor, bending her nails backwards, begging for a way out of this solitary prison. Screaming, over and over, for Ron to come back. Tears clouded her vision and the pain was convulsing her body, harsher than any Cruciatus curse. Arching her back, she began retching but there was nothing to discharge. After the heaves stopped, she collapsed on the floor, coughing, unable to move. Lying there for what could have been eternity, she raised a hand to wipe her face, but she stopped and astonishment passed over her features. Her small fingers were becoming ghostly. She stood up and saw that her body was no longer palpable, either.

And she was _excited. _She gave a dazzling, voluntary smile for the first time in years. She could only discern that Ron was waiting for her, holding out his hand to her, wherever she was going. And with that, she let go.

The aging man's hands were raw from digging in the earth. Harry had spent his entire evening and well into the night, searching for the stone he dropped all those years ago. He had spent the last fifteen years torturing himself, tormenting himself for not getting to his two best friends in time.

He had managed to capture the three death eaters behind Ron and Hermione's deaths and they were now rotting in Azkaban. But it had been too late. They were gone: recovered in the Shrieking Shack and locked in each other's embrace. He had finally moved past his depression a few years later, but, he had never, _never _forgiven himself.

He hand was torn open by a branch that lay among the Forbidden Forest's floor. He kicked himself backwards, leaning up against a tree, and assessing the damage. The tears were already running down his face when he flung himself on the ground, allowing his heart to shed its anguish. And then, he saw it. Lying right in front of his glasses was a stone etched with a symbol Harry knew only too well.

He sat up and forced his legs to stand, shaking. He closed his eyes and turned the stone thrice in hand, imagining the people who he's waited so long to see.

"Harry."

The voice was melodic, no trace of the stubborn, know-it-all tone was evident. He kept his eyes closed for just a moment longer while reveling in the sound. At last, his green orbs focused on the couple standing before him.

To him, they would always be eighteen: holding hands with the world at their feet. And today, they remained the same. He stepped closer, drinking in their appearance.

"You told Dumbledore you'd never come back for it."

Ah. There was the real Hermione. Her curls fell down her back and her eyes shone with the light of those who had everything they could ever want; even in death.

"Hermione. Leave the poor old bloke alone," Ron turned to face Harry, an impish smile gracing his features, "Hey, mate."

Harry just stood there, his lips twitching while trying to find the words that had been running in his head since that fateful day he found their bodies. He always imagined this but it seemed that his speech eluded him when faced with reality. He began twisting his hands and rubbing his shoe in the dirt.

"I'm-" His voice broke and he straightened his shoulders, pressing on, "I'm so sorry."

"Harry James Potter. There is nothing to be sorry for." Hermione chided him, stepping closer. Harry sucked in a breath, desperately trying to _feel _their presence. But it was worthless. In essence, he was alone.

Ron moved closer, "You're never alone, mate." He faded blue eyes were shining with remorse, _regret_. Hermione stifled a sob and Ron wrapped his arm around her shoulder, "I'm so lucky. I have Hermione for eternity, and we are so, so _blissfully _happy."

Hermione's smile struggled through her sadness, "We're waiting for you, Harry. We can't wait until your with us again. Live for us, Harry. And always know-" her hand raised, hovering above Harry's heart, "we love you and we are with you. Always."

She wiped away her tears, her hand itching to do the same to Harry. Instead, she interlaced her fingers with Ron's, "Love, go. Go home to your family. Stop worrying about us. It's a beautiful place, _Heaven._ And we're just waiting until you've come back to us. Drop the stone, love."

"I love you both."

Ron and Hermione stepped back, "We love you, too."

And with that, Harry Potter dropped the stone and walked himself out of the forest. Knowing that Ron and Hermione were with him, wherever he had been and wherever he would go. Anxiously waiting to meet him at the gates.

**Fin.**

**Thank you to every single one of you who has read my story!**


End file.
